“I suppose you cannot tell us much more about the tabernacle, Aunt Edith?” said Charley; “for we are getting near the time when Solomon built the temple, and then there was no more need for it.”
“I was thinking, the other day,” said May, “that I would much rather have seen the tabernacle as it was in the desert, with the tents of the Israelites all around it, than as it was at Gilgal or at Shiloh. Just think, Charley, how beautiful it must have looked by night, with the pillar of fire resting upon it, as if God were keeping watch over His people as they slept.”
“I should like to have stood on some mountain near, at sunrise, and seen the fiery pillar disappear when the morning came, and the pillar of cloud take its place, and then, perhaps, as I watched, the cloud might have risen, and I should have seen the great multitude fold their tents and move on through the desert, following the cloud by which God showed them the way. But of course the most beautiful part of the tabernacle was inside,” he added, thoughtfully. “I wish, Aunt Edith, you had been with us when we saw that model of which I told you. The more I think of it the more sorry I am that such a beautiful thing should have passed away.”
“It was, indeed, a beautiful thing, Charley; but you must not forget that it was only a shadow of that which can never pass away. Now that we have nearly come to the last days of the tabernacle,” continued their aunt, “it may be interesting to go back and speak a little of its first days. Have you thought of how the wonderful love of God shines through all the history of His people which we have been looking at a little since we began our pleasant talks?”
“I have not thought much about it, Aunt Edith; but I suppose if God had not loved the people and pitied them so, they could never even have got away from Egypt.”
“We are not told, Charley, that the people in Egypt had any thought of God. We know that they sighed by reason of their hard bondage, but we do not read that they cried to God, or asked Him to save them from their cruel masters; they groaned in the bitterness of their labour and sorrow, seeking rest and finding none, and their cry reached the throne of Jehovah. Before they called He heard, and the answer came: ‘I have seen, I have seen the affliction of My people which is in Egypt, and I have heard their groaning, and am come down to deliver them.’ This was what the oppressed, heavy-hearted Israelites had never thought of. They did not even know the greatness of their misery and helplessness, but God did, and so He undertook to save them out of their distress.”
“So, when the Lord Jesus was here, He knew there were hundreds of poor people who were wanting what He could give, though they did did not know it, and He said, ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,’” said little May.
“God said of the oppressed Israelites in Egypt, ‘I know their sorrows.’ He knew the unexpressed longings of their hearts, and He knows that, deep in the heart of each of us, there is a sore want, an unsatisfied longing, the dumb cry of a helpless human soul, not knowing its own need, understood only by Him.”
“Do you mean that we are unhappy because we have got away from God, and do not know how to come back?”
“You remind me of some words spoken by one who lived very long ago, Charley: ‘Thou hast made us for Thyself,’ he said, as he thought of these things, ‘and our heart is restless till it resteth in Thee.’ Even a child knows what it is to have desires and feelings which he cannot understand and cannot tell to any one. As soon as the consciousness that he is an immortal creature, and must live forever, breaks upon his mind, he is filled with thoughts of fear and unrest. Eternity stretches before him like a boundless sea. What is to become of him during that everlasting existence upon which he knows he has already entered?”
“I remember, Aunt Edith, once when I was staying with you, I woke in the night, and tried to think about what would never end, and I was so frightened that I called you; but when you came I could hardly explain to you how I felt, or what was the matter.”
“I have not forgotten that night, Charley; but I did not know that you would remember it; you were a very little boy then. What did I say to you?”
“You said such thoughts were too great for me, and I must just remember that God, who loved me, was greater than all my thoughts, and that everything belonged to Him, and that the Lord Jesus who had given Himself for me, and died to save me from all I was afraid of, was close to me, though I could not see Him, and took care of me, and loved me always. I remember I wondered what made Him care for me, but I was very sure He did, and I was not unhappy any more; though you stayed with me till I was asleep, I should not have been afraid if you had gone away.”
“You knew you had a Friend with you, One who had searched your inmost heart and found the trouble that was there.”
“Yes, that was just what I meant to say,” he interrupted. “I was so much afraid,” he continued, in a low tone, “because of my sins. I dared not look up; but all at once the hymn we used to sing came into my mind. I said it over and over again and it seemed better and truer each time:—
“‘But though we’re sinners, every one,
Jesus died.’
“Then I remembered how the Lord Jesus had once said to a sinner, ‘Thy sins are forgiven thee,’ and I thought He said it to me. I have never been afraid to die since, because I know if I left this world Jesus would have me.”
“God, who heard the sorrowful sighing of the poor oppressed bondsmen in Egypt, so long ago, heard your cry, and drew near to you that night as you lay, a little child trembling at the thought of the great unknown future. The heart, with all its strivings and longings, only gets further away from God, but at one word from Him all is peace, the struggle ceases, and there is a great calm.”
“I like that text,” said May, “We love Him because He first loved us.”
They were silent for a little, and then their aunt said—
“Will you tell me, dears, a little about that model you saw, which so much interested you?”
“I will try, Aunt Edith,” said Charley. “You must imagine a square, or rather an oblong open space in the desert, enclosed by pillars: twenty brass pillars on the north, twenty on the south, ten on the west, and six on the east, for there the entrance was. The tops of these pillars were of silver, and so were the hooks from which the curtains hung. We saw these curtains of white linen set up, and the curtain hung before the entrance.”
“Oh, yes, Aunt Edith, you know that beautiful curtain of blue and purple and scarlet was instead of a door, and we were told to think of how the Lord Jesus said, ‘I am the Way.’ The gentleman who explained it all to us said the altar, too, was a type of Christ; but Charley must tell you.”
“No one could come in to the outer court except by this veiled gateway, and just inside was the great altar, made of wood covered with brass, where the fire burnt the sacrifices. Every morning and every evening a lamb was offered on this altar for the whole people, and they could see the smoke rise up to heaven. It was to this altar, just inside the gate of the otter court, that the people brought their offerings; the offerer laid his hand upon the head of the offering and then killed it, and the priest sprinkled the blood around the altar, and put it also upon the four horns or corners of the altar.”
“Can you tell me why the sacrifices were offered?”
“To make atonement for sin. God saw the blood of the sacrifice, which was the life of the animal which had been killed, instead of the sin of the man who offered it.”
“And the man who offered it saw the blood, too, on the horns of the altar,” said May; “and you remember, Charley, when a priest had sinned the blood of his offering was put upon the horns of the golden altar on which the sweet incense was burnt in the place called the ‘holy.’”
“We learn from this, dear children, that God, against whom the sinner had sinned, alone could appoint what should make an atonement or covering for sin, and He had said that by blood, and blood alone—the life of another given instead of the forfeited life of the one who had done the wrong—atonement could be made. Thus God Himself provided the means by which His ancient people could approach Him, and because of which He could dwell among a rebellious people, with hearts no better than ours, sinning every day. You know why the offerer laid his hands upon the head of his offering, do you not?”
“Oh, yes,” said May, “it was to show that whatever creature it was that he brought was to be counted guilty of what he had done, and that he had deserved to be treated just as his offering was treated, It must have made him very sorry for his sin when he saw an innocent creature die because of it.”
“The sight must indeed have brought the solemn truth, ‘the wages of sin is death,’ right home to the conscience of the offerer: but how thankful he must have been to God, who thus allowed him to bring his offering, and who said of his sin, ‘it shall be forgiven him.’”
“God provided the sacrifices, and even appointed what the poorest of the people should bring; but we know that only the death of the Lord Jesus Christ, His holy Son, could ever really atone for sin: it was only after His precious blood had been shed that the veil which shut man from the presence of God was torn, and the way to heaven, of which the most holy place was a type, made open for every one who should come unto God by Him. But will you not go on with your description, Charley?
“Next to the altar stood the great brass laver, where the priests washed their hands and feet, and then came the tabernacle itself, in which the beautiful veil hung which divided the ‘holy’ from the ‘most holy.’ The outer court, where the great altar and the laver stood, was called the ‘holy place.’”
“You must not forget to say what was in the ‘holy,’” said May.
“The golden candlestick, the golden altar of incense, and the table of show-bread were there. The priests kept incense constantly burning on the beautiful little altar, and the great golden lamp, with seven branches, ornamented with flowery work, lighted up the whole place, so that the priests who entered it could see the blood that made atonement for their sin on the horns of the altar, and the beautiful curtain worked with figures of cherubim, and all the splendor of the gold.”
“The priests might see the beautiful veil,” said May, “but they could never go inside.”
“No,” replied her brother; “but don’t you remember what we were told about the great Day of Atonement? On that one day in the year, the high priest lifted the veil and went into the ‘most holy,’ where the ark was, and he carried in the blood of the sacrifice and sprinkled it upon the mercy-seat, which was the covering of the ark.”
“Were you told what the high priest going in and sprinkling blood upon the mercy-seat typified?”
“Yes, we were told, Auntie, but I can’t tell how to explain it.”
“God has Himself given us an explanation, so that we cannot doubt its wonderful meaning. In the ninth chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews we read (verse 12) that Christ, not by blood of goats and calves, but by His own blood, has entered in once for all into the holy of holies, having found an eternal redemption! Charley, will you read from the 24th verse to the end of the chapter?” C. P.